everything is right in this room!

the summer life

beach sultry....as if

some juicy new findings

1. mi mi : a wedding planning org that has the most beautiful pics
2. copycatchic.com : just what it sounds like- designer looking home furnishings for half the $$
3. riescreativity : my cousin is a graphic designer, and this is her blog

living color

MY STYLE

CREATIVE & ECLECTIC:
- proclaims a free-spirited, lively personality inspired by both the past and present
- one of a kind, pretty vintage and artisan objects, no matter their pedigree
- sets the stage for casual self-expression that infuses a mix and match look with endearing charm
COLOR:
- have a hard time picking a favorite- try to layer a paintbox full of informal brights
FURNITURE:
- new pieces and matching suites bore me
- happier with exuberant patchwork of eras, styles, upholstery and finishes collected over time (i.e. a new traditional tufted sofa with old-painted wood flea market finds)
PATTERN:
- my artist's eye hasn't seen a check, polka dot, stripe or paisley it hasn't liked, florals are a must
(what will I do when I need to live with a boy?!)
FABRIC:
- collected bits of handiwork, like laces, embroidery, crewel and appliques (some new, some old), reinforce a 'whimsical cottage' look
RUGS:
- comfort above all. must meet the "treat your feet" test
WINDOWS:
- sunshine recharges my creativity
- like translucent fabric, on soft shads or charmingly embellished curtains, to let the light stream in
ACCESSORIES:
- anything handmade speaks to my center
- group collections of paintings, sketches, collages or pottery to achieve a mismatched look

just the most heavenly get-up i have ever seen

white white white

All I can dream about lately are all white rooms, sans one brightly colored painting.

buttery lellow

do not let your fire go out

excerpts from a homemade life, by molly wizenberg (orangette)

molly wizenberg writes with such whimsy in this section, that i just had to post a couple excerpts from this chapter to my blog:

la boule miche (pages 59-64)...on molly's first trip to paris

" our hotel was on a skinny street lined with tall stone buildings that seemed to sit too close to the curb. they reminded me of men in starched suits, puffing out their chests. our room was a sparse, compact cube crammed between a spiral staircase and a central courtyard. it had the usual amenities, but each looked somehow askew, sort of muddled in the translation. the bedspreads were dusty brown, and i'd never seen a bathroom so small. you couldn't open the door without scraping the knees of the person sitting on the toilet or smacking the rear end of someone at the sink." (describing her hotel in paris)

" he pointed through the window to a shelf where flat, floury discs were propped side by side, like books on a shelf. 'but boule might also be short for boulangerie. that's what they call a bakery.'" (molly's dad introducing her to a parisian bakery)

"we stepped inside. a gray-haired woman was standing behind the cash register, busily arranging a stack of long paper bags, the sleeves that clothe baguettes when they are sent out into the world."

"'he pulled a few coins out of his pocket. 'deux croissants et un pain au chocolat, s'il cous plait," he (molly's father) said haltingly." " on the wall opposite the pastry case was a copper counter with a long mirror mounted above it a row of black, velvet-topped stools squatted in front of the counter like spindly mushrooms. we sat down, watching ourselves in the mirror, and ate our pastries: the croissants for him and my mother, the pain au chocolat for me. it crackled when i bit into it, but underneath the shattery crust, it tore into dozens of stretchy layers and strands. the chocolate inside was still warm, and it oozed out the side until i caught it with my finger and brought it back to my mouth. i was sold."

"each morning after that, while my mother was getting dressed, my father and i would walk around the block to the backery. it was always the same order for me: a pain au chocolat and a chocolat chaud. i'd perch myself atop one of the black mushroom caps, kicking my feet against its stem, and lean over the counter to sip the hot chocolate from its white ceramic cup."

"sometimes, for an afternoon snack, he (her father) bought me one of the small, oblong breads-pain passion, they called them-from a basket by the register. later in the day, if i got hungry before dinner, i would stuff a little square of chocolate, the kind they give you in cafes when you order coffee, into itts doughy center. my father beamed."